


#15 - Secrets

by TastyBrownies



Series: Rambles [15]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, I'm not in a great place right now, sorry if this is depressing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-12-30 00:12:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18304325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TastyBrownies/pseuds/TastyBrownies
Summary: Blergh





	#15 - Secrets

It threatens to spill out of her. Bursting at the seams, like a gushing river held at bay by a pile of branches.

Thin branches, too.

They don't train you for this.

They don't prepare you for this.

How can they?

You know too much, too much for one woman to handle on her own.

She feels sick.

There's a pit in her stomach and it's endless, all consuming, and she has no choice but to shove it all inside and stop.

Stop feeling.

She slips into a state of apathy for fear of choking on her tears, her fears, her blackened soul that weeps with knowledge that she never wanted to posses.

 

It feels like clawing at her insides, cloying, black tar oozing down her spine and making her shiver. The leaden weight doesn't let up, every week all over again as she struggles to stay afloat.

 

When she drinks, it's a relief. She doesn't think beyond the glass, beyond the thumping beat of the bass thudding through the floor, up her legs and into her chest, her head, her heart adjusting to the beat and letting the music take the reins.

She swings her head, her hair falling across her face, obscuring, hiding, protecting the world from her eyes that shimmer and lips that quiver and her thorat that works around a lump of pain that won't let her scream the way she truly wants to.

She adds another drink before she goes outside to face the world again, to prolong whatever high she has, that lets her feel alive and happy if only for a couple of hours.

The words flow from her mouth but they're empty, void, vapid, completely useless.

They fill the air with pointless chatter. Coloring the car with pink and blue, the lights from the bar spilling from her lips and it's sweet, like honey, because for once in a very long time pointless is the point, when you can live and breathe and talk and simply be, without excuses, without knowledge, without secrets.

Without the pressure that builds behind her eyes and lungs everytime she takes a breath.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Time to start the week again.

It stays, the pressure.

It builds and builds.

She's terrified, and it shows.

But she doesn't have a choice.

So she swallowes it, choking, and slips into the limbo.

Stop feeling.

You have a job to do.


End file.
